Ernest Vincent Wright-Gadsby_ A Lipogram Novel -CreateSpace (2011) (14 page)

And also:—

"What! Bill Gadsby? Is this town plumb crazy? Say! If you put that fop in City Hall you'll find all its railings flapping with pink satin ribbons; a janitor at its main door, squirting vanilla on all who go in; and its front lawn will turn into a pansy farm! Put a man in City Hall, not a sissy who thinks out 'upsy-downsy, insy-outsy' camping suits for girls!"

But though this didn't annoy Bill, it did stir up Nancy, with:—

"Oh! That's just an abomination! Such talk about so grand a young chap! But I just saw a billboard with a sign saying: 'Bill Gadsby for Council;' so, probably I shouldn't worry, for Bill is as good as in."

"Baby," said Gadsby, kindly, "that's only a billboard, and billboards don't put a man in City Hall. It's ballots, darling; thousands of ballots, that fill Council chairs."

"But, Daddy, I'm going to root for Bill. I'll stand up on a stump, or in a tip-cart, or —" "Whoa! Wait a bit!" and Gadsby sat down by his "baby girl," saying: "You can't go on a stumping campaign without knowing a lot about municipal affairs; which you don't. Any antagonist who knows about such things would out-talk you without half trying. No, darling, this political stuff is too big for you. You just look out for things in that small bungalow of yours, and allow Branton Hills to fight to put Bill in. You know my old slogan: — 'Man at a city's front; woman at a cabin door.'"

And Nancy, fondly stroking his hand, said:

"Man at a city's front! What a grand post for a man! A city, a big, rushing, dashing, slamming, banging, boiling mass of humanity! A city; with its bright, happy, sunny parks; and its sad, dark slums; its rich mansions and its shanty-town shacks; its shops, inns, shows, courts, airports, railway stations, hospitals, schools, church groups, social clubs, and, — and, — Oh! What a magic visualization of human thought it is! But it is as a small child. It looks for a strong arm to support its first toddlings; for adult minds to pilot it around many pitfalls: and onward, onward!! To a shining goal!!" and Nancy's crown of rich brown hair sank lovingly in Gadsby's lap.

During this outburst Gadsby had sat dumb; but finally saying, proudly:—

"So, ho! My baby girl has grown up! Dolls and sand-digging tools don't call, as of old. And small, dirty paws, and a tiny smudgy chin, transform, almost in a twinkling into charming hands and a chin of maturity. My, my! It was but a month or two ago that you, in pig-tails and gingham

"No, Daddy! It was a mighty long month or two ago; and it's not pig-tails and gingham, now, but a husband and a baby."

"All right, kid; but as you grow old, you'll find that, in glancing backwards, months look mighty short; and small tots grow up, almost in a night. A month from now looks awfully far off: but last month? Pff! That was only last night!"

Thus did Nancy and His Honor talk, until a vigorous honking at his curb told of Frank, "looking for a cook," for it was six o'clock.

ANY MAN WITH so kindly a disposition toward Youth as has brought our Mayor forward in Branton Hills' history, may, without warning, run across an occasion which holds an opportunity for adding a bit of joy in living. So, as Gadsby stood, on a chilly fall day, in front of that big glass building which was built for a city florist, admiring a charming display of blossoming plants, a small girl, still in Grammar School, said, shyly: — "Hulloa."

"Hulloa, you. School out?"

"On Saturdays, school is always out."

"That's so; it is Saturday, isn't it? Going in?"

"In!! My, no! I can't go into that fairyland!"

"No? Why not, pray?"

"Aw! I dunno; but nobody has took kids"

"Took? Took? Say, young lady, you must study your grammar book. Branton Hills schools don't —"

"Uh-huh; I know. But a kid just can't—"

"By golly! A kid can! Grab my hand."

Now, many a fairy book has told, in glowing words, of childhood's joys and thrills at amazing sights; but no fairy book could show, in cold print, what Gadsby ran up against as that big door shut, and a child stood stock still—and dumb! Two small arms hung limply down, against a poor, oh, so poor skirt; and two big staring brown orbs took in that vision of floral glory, which is found in just that kind of a big glass building on a cold, raw autumn day.

Gadsby said not a word; slowly strolling down a path amidst thousands of gladioli; around a turn, and up a path, along which stood pots and pots of fuchsias, salvias and cannas; and to a cross-path, down which was a big flat pansy patch, tubs of blossoming lilacs, and stiff, straight carnations. Not a word from Gadsby, for his mind was on that small bunch of rapturous joy just in front of him. But, finally, just to pry a bit into that baby mind, His Honor said:—

"Looks kind of good, don't it?"

A tiny form shrunk down about an inch; and an also tiny bosom, rising and falling in a thralldom of bliss, finally put forth a long, long,—

"O-h-h-h-h!!"

It was so long that Gadsby was in a quandary as to how such small lungs could hold it. Now in watching this tot thrilling at its first visit to such a world of floral glory, Gadsby got what boys call "a hunch;" and said: —

"You don't find blossoms in your yard this month, do you?"

If you know childhood you know that thrills don't last long without a call for information. And Gadsby got such a call, with: —

"No, sir. Is this God's parlor?"

Now Gadsby wouldn't, for anything, spoil a childish thought; so said, kindly:—

"It's part of it. God's parlor is awfully big, you know."

"My parlor is awfully small; and not any bloss — Oh! Wouldn't God —?"

Gadsby's hunch was now working, full tilt; and so, as this loving family man, having had four kids of his own, and this tot from a poor family with its "awfully small" parlor, — had trod this big glass building's paths again and again; round and round, an almost monstrous sigh from an almost bursting tiny bosom, said:—

"I'll think of God's parlor, always and always and always!!" and Gadsby, on glancing upwards, saw a distinct drooping and curving of many stalks; which is a plant's way of bowing to a child. And, at Branton Hills' following Council night a motion was— But I said Gadsby had a hunch. So, not only this schoolgirl's awfully small parlor, but many such throughout Branton Hills' poor districts, soon found a "big girl" from Gadsby's original Organization of Youth at its front door with plants from that big glass building, in which our City Florist works in God's parlor. (P.S. Go with a child to your City Florist's big glass building. It's a duty!)

I AM NOW GOING back to my saying that a city has all kinds of goings-on; both sad and gay. So, as His Honor sat on his porch on a warm spring day, a paragraph in Branton Hills' "Post" brought forth such a vigorous "Huh!" that Lady Gadsby was curious, asking: "What is it?"

So Gadsby said: — "What do you think of this? It says: — 'In a wild swaying dash down Broadway last night at midnight, past-Councilman Antor's car hit a hydrant, killing him and Madam Antor instantly. Highway Patrolman Harry Grant, who was chasing that car in from our suburbs, says both horribly drunk, Antor grazing four cars, Madam shouting and singing wildly, with Grant arriving too tardily — to ward off that final crash.'"

Now Lady Gadsby was, first of all, a woman; and so got up quickly-, saying: —

"Oh!! I must go down to poor young Mary, right off" and Gadsby sat tapping his foot, saying:-

"So Antor's pantry probably still holds that stuff. Too bad. But, oh, that darling Mary! Just got into High School! Not long ago Lucy told us of girls snubbing that kid; but I trust that, from this horror, our Branton Hills girls will turn from snubbing to pity. This account says that Madam Antor also was drunk. A woman drunk!! And riding with a rum-sot man at a car's controls! Woman! From History's dawn, Man's soft, fond, loving pal! Woman! For whom wars of blood and agony cut Man down as you would mow a lawn! Woman! To whom infancy and childhood look for all that is upright and good! It's too bad; too bad!" As in all such affairs you will always find two factions talking. Talking about what? Just now, about Norman Antor. What would this wiping out of his folks do to him? Norman was now living with Mary and two aunts who, coming from out of town, would try to plan for our two orphans; try to plan for Norman; Norman, brought up in a pool of liquor! Norman: tall, dark and manly and with a most ingratiating disposition if not drunk. But nobody could say. A group would claim that "this fatality will bring him out of it;" but his antagonists thought that "That guy will always drink."

A day or two from that crash, Nancy, coming into Gadsby's parlor, found Lucy talking with Lady Gadsby, Lucy asking: —

"Nancy, who is with young Mary Antor now? That pair of aunts wouldn't stay, with all that liquor around."

"I just found out," said Nancy. "Mary is living with Old Lady Flanagan" and Lucy, though sad, had to laugh just a bit, saying: —

"Ha, ha! Old Lady Flanagan! What a circus I had trying to pry a zoo donation from that poor soul's skimpy funds! But, Nancy, Mary is in mighty good hands. That loving old Irish lady is a trump!"

ALONG IN APRIL, Gadsby sat finishing his morning toast as a boy, rushing in, put a "Post" on his lap with a wild, boyish gasp of: —

"My gosh, Mayor Gadsby, Look!!" and Gadsby saw a word about a foot high. It was W - A - R. Lady Gadsby saw it also, slowly sinking into a chair. At that instant both Nancy and Kathlyn burst frantically in, Nancy lugging Baby Lillian, now almost two, and a big load for so small a woman, Nancy gasping out:-"Daddy!! Must Bill and Julius and Frank and John, —"

Gadsby put down his "Post" and, pulling Nancy down onto his lap, said: —

"Nancy darling, Bill and Julius and Frank and John must. Old Glory is calling, baby, and no Branton Hills boy will balk at that call. It's awful, but it's a fact, now."

Lady Gadsby said nothing, but Nancy and Kathlyn saw an ashy pallor on that matronly brow; and Gadsby going out without waiting for his customary kiss.

For what you might call an instant, Branton Hills, in blank, black gloom, stood stock still. But not for long. Days got to flashing past, with that awful sight of girls, out to lunch, saying:—

"Four from our shop; and that big cotton mill has forty-six who will go,"

With Virginia saying:—

"About all that our boys talk about is uniforms, pay, transportation, army corps, divisions, naval squadrons, and so on."

An occasional Branton Hills politician thought that it "might blow out in a month or two;" but your Historian knows that it didn't; all of that "blowing" consisting of blasts from that military clarion, calling for mobilization.

* * *

Days! Days! Days! Finally, on May Fourth, that day of tiny Nancy's big church ritual, you know; that day, upon which any woman would look back with romantic joy, Nancy, with Kathlyn, Lady Gadsby and His Honor, stood at Branton Hills' big railway station, at which our Municipal Band was drawn up; in back of which stood, in solid ranks, this city's grand young manhood, Bill, Julius, Frank, John, Paul and Norman standing just as straight and rigid as any. As that long, long troop train got its signal to start, - but you know all about such sights, going on daily, from our Pacific coast to Atlantic docks.

As it shot around a turn, and Gadsby was walking sadly toward City Hall, a Grammar School boy hurrying up to him said:-"Wow!! I wish I could go to war!"

"Hi!" said Gadsby. "If it isn't Kid Banks!"

"Aw! Cut that kid stuff! I'm Allan Banks! Son of Councilman Banks!"

"Oh, pardon. But you don't want to go to war, boy."

"Aw! I do too!!"

"But young boys can't go to war."

"I know that; and I wish this will last until I grow so I can go. It's just grand! A big cannon says Boom! Boom! and,—"

"Sit down on this wall, boy. I want to talk to you."

"All right. Shoot!"

"Now look, Allan. If this war should last until you grow up, just think of how many thousands of troops it would kill. How many grand, good lads it would put right out of this world."

"Gosh! That's so, ain't it! I didn't think of guys dyin'."

"But a man has to think of that, Allan. And you will, as you grow up. My two big sons just put off on that big troop train. I don't know how long Bill and Julius will stay away. Your big cannon might go Boom! and hit Bill or Julius. Do you know Frank Morgan, Paul Johnson and John Smith? All right; that big cannon might hit that trio, too. Nobody can say who a cannon will hit, Allan. Now, you go right on through Grammar School, and grow up into a big strong man, and don't think about war;" and Gadsby, standing and gazing far off to Branton Hills' charming hill district, thought: "I think that will bust up a wild young ambition!"

But that kid, turning back, sang out:-

"Say!! If this scrap stops, and a big war starts,—Aha, boy! You just watch Allan Banks! Son of Councilman Banks!!" and a small fist was pounding viciously on an also small bosom.

"By golly!" said Gadsby, walking away, "that's Tomorrow talking!"

* * *

So now this history will drift along; along through days and months; days and months of that awful gnawing doubt; actually a paradox, for it was a "conscious coma;" mornings on which Branton Hills' icy blood shrank from looking at our city's "Post," for its casualty list was rapidly—too rapidly, — growing. Days and days of our girlhood and womanhood rolling thousands of long, narrow cotton strips; packing loving gifts from many a pantry; Nancy and Kathlyn thinking constantly of Frank and John; Lucy almost down and out from worrying about Paul; Kathlyn knowing just how Julius is missing his Hall of Natural History, and how its staff is praying for him; Nancy's radio shut down tight, for so much as a thought of Station KBH was as a thrust of a sword. Days. Days. Days of shouting orators, blaring bands, troops from far away pausing at our big railway station, as girls, going through long trains of cars, took doughnuts and hot drinks. In Gadsby's parlor window hung that famous "World War flag" of nothing but stars; nobody knowing at what instant a gold star would show upon it. A star for Bill; a star for Julius. Ah, Bill! Branton Hills' fop! Bill Gadsby now in an ill-fitting and un-stylish khaki uniform.